DISCLAIMER: This is a love story about two consenting female adults. Can't handle it, don't like it, don't read it. We're just borrowing Dick Wolf's characters for fun; we aren't making any money from it.
AUTHOR' NOTE: When two writing heads get together in a round robin...
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
It's Gotta Be Love
By Katherine Quinn & Adrienne Lee
Your fingers were in my hand a few minutes ago. Now they are on my face, in my hair, back on my face. I'm actually touching you, holding you, pulling close you to me.
Your lips are on my lips, I'm tasting your black coffee, your tongue is in my mouth.
You're kissing me. I'm kissing you back. We're kissing. Oh god I've waited so long for this. I've fantasized so often, so many times about our first kiss, wondering when it would happen, what we would be doing before, where it would be.
Where it would be!
Oh my god, we're kissing in a public bathroom! One so close to work! We've got to stop, we've got to stop!
I loosen my hold on your shoulders, and let my hand slide down your side, so I can ease us apart. But then I touch your skin.
Oh my god, I'm touching your skin. The skin on your torso. So soft, so warm, so
We've got to stop before I can't stop myself!
So I push you back against the wall, hoping to use the tiled surface as leverage, so I can propel myself off of you. Instead, you clasp me closer, I can feel your breasts pressing against my chest, and your tongue gliding deeper into my mouth. Oh god.
I slip my hands further up your shirt, testing the smooth muscles in your back, and I wonder how they would feel against my nails. If you'd make me lose control like nobody else could, so much so that I'd end up marking you. Wonder if you'd willingly happily wear my marks as trophies
My musings are suddenly interrupted.
Suddenly, your hands are on my ass. Your thigh is between my legs, pressing into me. Uncontrollably, I arch against you. You grind into me. Oh, god, oh god, I feel fire spread from our contact. Uncontrollable, raging, wild fire.
Suddenly I'm hearing a litany of good girls dos and good girls don'ts running through my head. My mom's litany.
Up until now, Alex Cabot has been a relatively good girl. Relativity being key.
Still, Alex Cabot doesn't spread her legs on the first date. Not even the third. At least she didn't use to...
I can still remember the look on mom's face when she found condoms, dental dams, latex gloves and half a bottle of lubricant in my drawer. I wonder what she'd say if she sees me right now, with my hands under another woman's shirt. If she sees me riding her thigh and bucking against her like there's no tomorrow. And we haven't even had our first date yet.
Is don't ask don't tell still mom's policy, I wonder?
Once again, I'm ripped from my thoughts. When suddenly my feet are no longer touching the floor.
Suddenly, I feel the hard cold marble of the sink burning through my jeans. I feel your warms hands push roughly up my sweater and close over my breasts.
I feel your lips your teeth sinking into my neck. I feel your hot breath searing my skin.
I wrap my legs around your legs, trying desperately to maintain contact, to pull you still closer to me.
If I'm dreaming, please god, please don't let it end.
This has to be, this must be, love.
I hear my body thud against the wall your body pressing into mine. You catch me by surprise, as you deepen the kiss and slide your nails gently down my sides. Oh god. I can feel the phantom path of your fingers down my sides.
Warm heat is flowing between us, as we rub our bodies against each other. Your mouth wrestles with mine. Your hands are running over me. My hands, wrapped around your neck. My leg rests between your thighs and I can feel you pressing into me, against me.
If you keep doing that, I'm going to explode.
I shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
Oh fuck it.
I push you back, releasing the pressure of you pushing against me. I quickly pick you up, amazed at how little you weigh. I put you on the sink. You gasp as you feel your body lift, and your feet lose contact with the floor. I take your momentary loss of balance to slip my fingers across your back, and slowly, I slide them up your shirt.
God, I wish I had done this before, because right now, I feel like a teenage boy groping under your sweater. I'm not sure what exactly I'm doing, but I can feel you reciprocating with tiny moans when I hit the right spots. I try to focus; focus on remembering my own body and how it feels to be touched. I remember many nights of fumbling with some boy I liked when I was younger; awkwardly spread out in the back seat of a car. It never felt like this.
Nothing before right now has ever felt this good.
I can feel you grinding yourself into my hip bone, lifting yourself off the counter and against me in a quickening rhythm.
I'm going to do this right here.
On the cold marble counter.
In a public bathroom.
In a public bathroom?
Wait a second.
My mind is starting to catch up with my body, the feelings that are charging through me. There's a certain lure, a certain danger to fucking you now, in a public bathroom.
But I don't want to fuck you.
I don't want to take you now, in a horny lust. Because if there's one thing I've learned from hard experience is that lust doesn't last and that even though this is better than anything that's come before it, I have to stop this.
It takes everything in my whole body to stop this from happening. I pull back from your lips and look into your eyes
So close. So good. Finally I have you in my arms. Finally I'm in your arms. ME, in YOUR arms. Your body between mine. Who cares if we're doing it in a public bathroom. Who cares if Alex Cabot's quickly losing her good girl status.
We're doing it.
I never realize sex can be so good. Where have I been? What have I been doing?
No, where have YOU been, all my life?
Keep doing what you're doing. Please don't ever ever stop!
Then, I feel your body tense for a long second.
Then you pull away.
You put your hands on my hips and gently lower me back onto the counter. You keep me down, and pull away!
I open my eyes and stare at you. Confusion, accusation, I'm not sure what's written on my face.
"Alex, I'm sorry, I can't, I don't want to do this."
I squeeze my eyes closed and swallow hard. It's too good to be true, I knew it.
Then your hands are on my cheeks, raising my head.
"Look at me, Alex."
I don't know that I can. I'm so embarrassed, so hurt, so confused. Don't know that I can look at you without making a bigger fool out of myself. To have you so close to me, and so far away.
"Alex?" You try again, then give up, and rest your forehead against mine. And sigh.
"I've wanted this, wanted you, for so long, Alex," you begin softly. "I don't want our first time to be frantic fucking in a public bathroom. I wanna do this right. I wanna start us out right. So we'll last."
Slowly I release the breath I didn't know I was holding, and move to rest my cheek on your shoulder. Still unable to look at you. Can't let you see the tears of happiness, relief and frustration building behind my eyes.
"Suppose you have a point." I nod against your shirt.
You breathe deeply and clasp me to you. Your hands gentle on my back. Is this how the victims feel when they seek comfort in your arms? I'm so lucky to have you.
"So." Finally I smile up at you.
"Have you decided where we're going to feed my stomach?"
As I pull back from you, letting your feet settle on the ground, I can see what looks like shades of disappointment running across your face. You stare at the floor like I'm rejecting you. But I'm so not rejecting you.
So, maybe I'm better at this than I thought. Sure, I might not exactly be experienced here, but I'm not quite losing my touch either. I know that this feels right. I know that this feels like I'm finally breathing.
You look at the ground and not up into my eyes. Like you're ashamed. Like you think we've done something wrong. If only you knew how disappointed I am too.
I want more for you; more for us than this. I push your chin up; you're still trying to look away but I'm fixated on how blue your eyes are. How easy it is to see your emotions churning within them. You finally look at me, smiling as I tell you that I want you too badly to ruin this.
You smile and press your face against my shoulder. That pushes your whole body into me, and again I'm aware of the pounding of my heart mixed with the heady feeling of arousal.
God this feels so right.
If you don't move, I'm going to forget that I want more for you than taking you here and now. I have to focus. I can't let my body lead this time. It's going to have to be my mind.
I smile at you and try to lighten the mood. "Are you going to feed me?"
You smile back, a light and cheery look. You ask me what I'm in the mood for. I guess it'd be inappropriate to tell you that I'm really in the mood to take you back to my place and My place. Crap. My place is a mess. I guess lunch it is.
And then a frown crosses your face.
"What?" I ask you.
"Trevor's outside. He's waiting for me."
25. NOW WHAT?
If you roll your eyes any higher, I swear they'll fall backwards into your head. Your inability or unwillingness to pretend is part of what I find so charming about you.
"Come on, Trevor can be a nuisance, but he's really not so bad." I try to convince you. I can tell it's going to be an uphill battle, to get you two to tolerate each other. You should hear some of the things he said about you on our way here. Hm. On second thought, maybe you shouldn't. Wouldn't want to have to choose between you. Hoping for the best, I wish out loud, "Once you get to know him, you'll see."
"Yeah, well, he's still the enemy in court."
"Well, he's mine, too," I remind you. "You and I are on the same side, remember?"
"Why did you ask him to wait anyway?"
"I didn't. He insisted, to make sure you know." I try to explain his good intention. "And since I wasn't sure if we'll work out, I didn't argue."
"I see." You're not pleased, but you let it go and ask me, "Now what?"
Giving you an impish smile, I suggest, "We can always try to sneak out the back door." I see the mischievous glint in your eyes, and caution, "But he'll never let me forget it."
"We definitely don't wanna do that."
"So why don't I just go out there, and send him off. Then we can be on our way."
"I'll go with you."
You look so determined when you say that. Why? Do you think he'll give me grief? Or are you afraid I might run off with him? You look so cute all protective like that. "All right, if you want."
The clouds are looming over your head again. What are you worrying about now? "Yeah, Liv?"
"Are you, um." You pause, hesitating and obviously trying to look for the right words, or decide whether or not to continue. Finally, you make up your mind. "Are you going to break up with your 'boyfriend' at some point?"
"Do you mean a public breakup?"
"I don't know " Honestly, I haven't thought this far. While I don't feel the need to hide, I'm also not sure if I want my private life out in the open. It's really nobody's business. "I guess maybe? If I have to?" I hedge, then add for good measure, "Is it so important that I must decide right now?"
"No, I guess not."
There is a look on your face, but before I can figure what you might be thinking, it shifts into a smile.
"Well, Alex, shall we?" You motion towards the door, and act as if all is perfect in the world.
I don't challenge you. Not about that anyway. "Sure, Liv. Before we go though "
I lean over and grab your face, and kiss you full on the mouth. By the size of your eyes when we connect, I can see you aren't expecting that. I kiss you full and hard and deep, pushing my tongue against yours, ravaging your mouth.
I kiss you until I feel your pulse beating in your throat, until I hear your breathing quicken, then I pull back.
Swallowing a whimper, you move your lips, but no voice come out. I'm not sure what you're going to say, but I can only imagine. Kissing you lightly on your cheek, I tell you, "That's for leaving me hanging," and walk out of the bathroom.
26. Off Center
I get to meet Trevor.
And you really think that we're going to get along? Yeah. Right.
And someday, pigs will fly.
You forget that I've already met him, so many times we've faced in court, spitting venom at each other. He's such a jerk, questioning me and the way I do my job. Always with a sneaky suspicion that I've done something to corner one of his sleaze bag clients. I already have a well engrained hatred against him. I don't care if he is your brother; he's a huge pain in the ass.
I know though, that having a relationship with you is now going to mean having a relationship with him. Ew. Why does that sound disgusting? You're lucky that you're worth it.
So, I'm steeling my stomach so that I can get the guts to walk out of here and face him. I can't imagine that the last 24 hours have been filled with him saying very good things about me, since I know that you were so hurt. But I have to do this. I'm going to do it. I'm going to smile and play nice, knowing that you want me and not him.
And just as we're about to make it out of here, you turn around. One more thing, you say. I turn my head to look at you wondering what it is you could possibly want from me now. To tell me he's not only your brother but that Cragen is his dad?
I catch your eyes, and before I can even breathe your lips are on mine.
They're pressing into me, your tongue pressing deeply into my mouth. I stumble back, but you still push into me. Your hands are around my waist as you push into me. Then with a damn self satisfied smirk, as quickly as you jumped me, you leave me standing. I almost lose my balance as you release me, and I hear myself whimper as you pull back.
Damn. I'm going to love getting used to that.
You smile, at me, walking towards the door, and I take my deep breath and follow you like a puppy dog. We dodge through the tiny café, and you stop for a second to throw money on the table. That's one damn lucky waitress, I think, as you drop a 20 and pull me towards the door.
I smell him before I see him. Sigh. That's so mean. I should've known he'd be driving the huge black penis extender parked illegally in front of the fire hydrant. He's talking to the air and I realize the pompous ass is talking into one of those miniature wireless headpiece things.
You've gotta be freaking kidding me.
I try to stifle my groan as I watch him. He looks at us leaving the restaurant and he gives me a wave. I wave back, in the most half assed way I can manage. You run up to the car and stick your head through the window. I hang back along the building, trying to make my examination of the sidewalk look like it's really quite important. I hear you call my name and my head snaps up. You're motioning for me to come over.
I take a deep breath and as slowly as humanly possible, I walk towards you.
27. BROTHER DEAREST
I knew it. We should have snuck out the back door. I'm thirty years old. I don't need a minder or a keeper. I thought he would see how happy I am, and decide to keep his opinion to himself.
First, he criticizes your ability to dress yourself, and asks if I'm going to help you get back into the closet, and stay there at least until you get a fashion sense.
What's wrong with the way you're dressed? I think you look incredibly hot in your little black tee, your tight fitting jeans, and your leather jacket. Super hot. I get distracted just thinking about how your clothes hug and show off your body.
"You have your type and I have mine." I tell him. "You don't hear me criticizing the blond bimbos you lust after, do you?"
Well, that's a mistake. I know it as soon as it comes out of my mouth.
"Yes, you have your type. Don't I know it. You should have stuck with Abbie Carmichael. For a penis envy ball-crusher, at least she has class."
I'm this close to strangling him. Instead of reminding him all the nasty things he had said about Abbie, I take a deep breath, "You're just miffed because everyone I've ever liked has something over you."
"Yeah? And what is that?"
"The ability to throw your scum bag clients in jail."
That's a low blow, I realize. But right now, if we weren't related, if I didn't have to explain to mom, he'd be sleeping with worms.
"I really don't know what you see in her. A know-it-all cop and an abusive drunk to boot." He shakes his head and sighs. "Don't come crying to me if she breaks your heart."
Ignoring the huge iceberg that I suddenly find myself standing on, I ask, "Can't you find one nice thing to say about her?"
He doesn't even skip a beat. "I imagine she's hot in the sack. When I saw you leave the table and didn't come back, I thought you left through the back door."
"We didn't "
"Don't worry, I'm not mom, you don't have to be a good girl for me." He waves his hand dismissively. "If I were you though, I'd wipe that look from my face before we have dinner with her tomorrow. You do remember dinner with mom, right?"
What look? I didn't realize I have a look. I'm speechless.
"Now if you have nothing more to say, I want to talk to her."
"To compliment her on her wardrobe and warn her about hurting my baby sister?"
Now I remember why it's so easy to break his balls in court, and why I haven't disowned him. "Play nice." I give him a final glare before waving you over.
Before I step back onto the sidewalk, I give your fingers a squeeze. For moral support. You're going to need it.
I suck air into my lungs as I walk slowly over to the car. You squeeze my hand, and then, I see you step away. It's just me and him. Damn.
I stick my head in the window and I see his arrogant face.
"That's my little sister," he says.
"Yeah, so I hear." I say.
"She really likes you."
"I really like her."
"I'm glad. You know, you really hurt her last night."
Nothing like going for the jugular. I look at my shoes, embarrassed by his directness.
"Yeah, I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
"I think you were too wasted to remember."
"I..I.." I don't know what to say.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Do I have a choice?" I can feel my defense mechanisms flying up all over my mind. This guy takes no prisoners.
"Are you an alcoholic?"
"Are you an alcoholic?"
I have to think about that one. My mom was an alcoholic. I just like to drink every once in awhile. Okay, maybe more than once in awhile, but there's nothing wrong with that. It's nothing that I can't control. It's nothing that is any of this asshole's business. It takes me a second, but I mumble my no.
"That's not what I've heard."
What the fuck? Who does he know? "Well you're hearing from the wrong source."
"Let me give you a piece of advice. The first time you get drunk off your ass and you hurt my little sister. I'll kill you."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, I'm warning you." He hands me a card, and on the back is scrawled an address.
"What this?" I ask.
"It's the AA meeting closest to your apartment. I suggest you attend. Don't take it from me because I'm Alex's brother but take it from me because I'm an alcoholic."
I've got a really bad feeling about this. I should never have left you two alone. From here, unless I squat on the pavement, I can't see either of you. I can barely hear you, but I certainly can't make out what you're saying.
Is it too late to go over and take you away?
"Fuck you, you self-righteous bastard!"
I hear you yell at him. I see you raise up, turn, and storm towards me. As soon as you're within arm's reach, I try to touch you, to put my hand on your shoulder. But you shy away, and you aren't even subtle about it.
"What did he say to you?" I ask, ready to jump into the fray and go kill my brother.
You put up your wall. "I don't want to talk about it, Alex."
"If you want to know so bad, go ask him."
"I will." I see you start to walk away from me, I try to hold you back. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
The first objection I can think of, I raise, "What about lunch?"
"I need time to think."
"About what? And what about dinner?" Now I'm desperate. I don't even try to hide the hurt and confusion in my voice. "What about what we started?"
"Can't you give me some room to breathe? Huh, Alex?"
"I'm sorry, Alex. I'll see you on Monday." You smile at me sadly, and you walk out of my life.
And I find myself standing alone on the sidewalk, hugging myself, in shock, in pain. I don't even care that I'm less than two blocks away from work. Don't even give a damn that people I know might see me. I hug myself, and try physically to force the tears back into my eyes.
He has the chutzpa to come out of his damn car, the audacity to put his arms around me. My brother, my betrayer.
"What did you say to her?" I demand, my head buried against his chest. Hating myself for falling into his trap, for being so weak.
"Why Alex? I made nice, like you told me to." He strokes my hair like I'm still six years old, and I've just skinned my knee. "And I warned her not to hurt you again, like I told you I would."
"What was on that card she put in her pocket?" I hiccup.
"I lost her before I ever had her. And it's all your fault."
"Alex, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
For the second time today, I'm letting you down. I can see tears in your eyes as you reach for my arm. It's too late though, my mind is shutting down. I'm focused on self preservation. I don't care. I really don't care. I don't. Really.
For the first time, I see the child inside you. She's in your eyes, hurt and scared. Desperately, you ask me about lunch and I shrug you off. I need to not be here with you right now. I need to be alone. I keep walking. I can't stop because I don't want you to see that there are tears in my eyes. That jerk will not get the pleasure of seeing me cry.
You want to know what he said. You want to know what he did.
I can't tell you. I can't even say it, because it's between him and I. It's his problem. Not mine. It won't be mine.
Before I can totally get away, you ask me about dinner. You're a step behind me and I can feel you pulling my arm. I'm not hungry anymore. Not for you and not for lunch. Right now, I can't see you because I see him. He's so sure I'm going to screw up your life, then fine, he's right, and he can have you.
So it's going to be up to me. I have to do what's best for both of us.
I stalk off. I need to be alone, I mumble. It's not always about you. Walking away is what I do best. Forgetting that something's wrong. Forgetting that I ever thought I could be happy. It doesn't matter anyway.
I can't believe that fucking jerk is related to you. I can't believe you brought him with you. What did you honestly think I'd do? What was he going to save you from? And you have to admit that he thinks he's a God.
I can't believe he had the balls to give me this god damn card. Who the hell is he to tell me that I have a problem? Maybe he does, and that's fine. But he doesn't even know me.
I pull it out of my pocket and look at it.
Alcoholics Anonymous, meetings and times, all written out in tiny print on the back of one of his pompous attorney at law cards.
Fuck that shit. I'm not an alcoholic. I want to tear it up and throw it away, but instead, I slide it back into my pocket and do what I do best.
Find an open bar.
Finally, I suck in a stabling breath, and swallow my tears. "Let's go." Without waiting for an answer, I reach into his coat and pull out his keys. Before he can say 'objection', I'm slamming the driver's door shut.
"Where are we going?" He buckles the safety belt, hangs on to the handle overhead, and steels himself for the moment I step on the accelerator. Smart man. But not smart enough.
"A bar? Why?"
"That's the closest to here. And that's where she is, I'm sure."
"You know about her drinking problem?" He asks, clearly astonished.
"Yes, like I know about yours."
He's speechless. My brother the dumb ass.
So I enlighten him, "Alcoholism tends to run in the family, Trevor. Why do you think I'm so careful about how much I drink? Cops, lawyers, we're all the same. Did you forget I used to volunteer with Lawyers Assistance?"
"How come you never said anything, about me, to mom?"
"You're almost forty years old, Trevor, you're not a child anymore." I swerve around the cab that's going too slow, and step on the gas. "I just wish you'd realize I don't need a baby-sitter either."
He has the sense to sound contrite. Or maybe it's just defeat. Right now, I don't give a flying fuck.
"I want you to know though, Alex, I'm getting help. That's what I was trying to get her to do."
You arrogant son of a Who do you think you are? I want to yell at him. But I don't. I realize he's just concerned. "What was on that card, Trev?"
"Time, place. Information I thought she could use "
Loudly, I sigh. "Can't you keep your nose out of my business for once?"
"I'm your big brother, Alex, I'm just trying to protect you."
"And who's going to protect you?" I step on the brakes. The car makes a loud screech. Too bad he's not sticking out the windshield. "Stay here." I order, and grab the keys, and lock him in. If he tries to open the door from the inside, he'll set off the alarm.
I inhale deeply, and poke my head into the bar. Yep, just as I suspected. There you are, flirting with some damn guy, already three sheets to the wind. Why can't you be less predictable, Olivia?
If you're going to pick up someone in a drunken stupor and screw them senseless, goddammit, it'll be me! Even if I'll regret it tomorrow morning. Even if it kills me!
If it's not love I feel about you, I'm not sure what is.
I go back and unlock the car. "Get out."
"Hey, it's my car." Trevor protests, but does what he's told.
"A little walking won't kill you." I spit, and storm into O'Malley's.
The first three slide down my throat, easy and quick.
I feel sorry for myself. I'm a fuck up and this is easy. I know what it's like to do this.
For a second, I stared into the amber liquid. Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe this wasn't what I should be doing. Maybe I am an alcoholic.
I know it's not true and I slam back the glass as proof. It feels good, the burning searing pain as it rips down my throat. I smile and order another.
Sitting in the back corner of the bar, I can see a guy watching me. I force myself to smile at him. It may not be what I want, but it's familiar. I still feel the burning desire of having you press against me. I can still smell your scent on me, caught in my nose, stuck in my senses. Memory's a bitch, but mine's getting worse as I let my heart go numb.
The bartender fills my glass again and motions to the guy. "It's from him." He says.
I smile and throw it back. An unexpected bonus.
He starts walking over to me, and I'm ready for him. He mumbles something about how pretty I am. I wonder if he knows that he doesn't have to try, that he's already got a sure thing here. I smile at him again and pat the bar stool next to me, and he slithers into it.
"What's a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?"
I point to my glass. "Drinking."
"Then let me help you out."
He motions for the bartender to pour us another round, and he looks questioning whether I really think that I should have another one. I can hold my liquor like a pro; I smile, motioning for him to fill it again.
This guys talking to me, a mile a minute, telling me about his exciting job and honestly I couldn't give a damn. I'm quickly jumping from buzzed to soused and I can feel my inhibitions crashing down around me. With every single sip, this guy is looking better and better.
And then, I see you. Like the mother fucking lone ranger, storming in here to rescue me.
And to make it all worse, you have the asshole in tow. Only this time, instead of looking all arrogant and smug, he looks like he's scared out of his mind. You storm over to me and the guy, who for some ungodly reason already has his arms over my shoulders.
First you look at him, and then you look at me. "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask. I try my hardest to keep my voice steady, concentrating on syllables so the words don't slur together.
"Get up." You say, grabbing my arm.
"I'm just having a drink here," I say, grabbing the glass in front of me while I try to push your arm off me. My coordination isn't that good. I miss your hand and get the glass. "You had enough," you say, grabbing the glass out of my hand.
"What'd you bring him for? Got something else to say big guy?" I ask him, ignoring you and shrugging your hand off me with all my concentration.
You don't let me talk to him, and instead you tell me that you don't want me to cause a scene. Oh, trust, me sweetheart. If I want a scene, I'll have a scene. I'll make you wish you never met me.
Let the games begin.
33. PUBLIC DISPLAY
I don't fucking believe it. How long has it been since the scene at the sidewalk? Thirty minutes? And you're already picking up a guy and looking like you're ready to have drunken wild monkey sex with him. Don't you see the nasty black edges under his nails and the cigarette stains on his buck teeth? UGH! I thought you had better taste than this.
Maybe I should just let you go, let you wake up to that and see the mistake you're making.
Then you look behind me and ask me why I brought him. Him? Who him? I turn around. Oh, HIM. Didn't I make myself clear, Trevor? You're suppose to go away. "Go away, Trevor," I tell him under my breath, "Go home." All the while, I try to reason with you, try to convince you to leave with me without causing a bigger scene.
Why do I bother? Why do I think I can reason with a drunk?
Before I know what's happening, you're yelling at Trevor, and he's looking like he's about to hit you, or run. Or hit you and then run.
I get between the two of you. I'm sure I look like a rabid pit bull at this point, but I don't care.
Trevor has the sense to back off. You, you, on the other hand, scream at the top of your lungs at him, "If you want her so much, you can have her." Then you scream at me, "Go back to your boyfriend, your wonderful happy life."
"Liv..." I warn.
"Leave me alone. I'm with him now." And you lean over and kiss the man. Thank god you miss his mouth and land on his shoulder. I'm not sure there's enough peroxide on earth for me to clean out my eyes otherwise.
"Olivia." I try again, "Come, let's get out of here. We'll talk when you're sober."
You're swearing, slurring unintelligibly. Somewhere in there I hear Trevor, son of a bitch, whore, and finally I'm losing it.
And I know I'm definitely going to regret it.
"You," I turn to Disgusting Man, "Go back to your cave and stay there!" He throws some cash on the counter and high-tails out of the bar. Smart man.
"Trevor," I say to my brother without even looking at him, "Leave now."
"But Alex..." He tries to argue. "But I'm your..." Not so smart man.
"But Alex, you can't... I love you, I want only..." He refuses to heed my warning. I can't believe we share the same genes.
You repeat after him, "Yeah, Alex, he LOVES you!" I can't believe I'm in love with you.
Great, just great.
If you people want a public breakup so badly, who am I to deny you?
Without thinking, I grab you by the collar...
I can feel adrenaline pumping through my veins as I face you. You're trying to be calm, and somewhere in my head, I sense that I'm out of control. Too bad that feeling hasn't caught up with my mouth, which is moving of its own accord. Seeing Trevor with you makes my blood boil, and he's looking at me like I'm fucking up again. And as far as I'm concerned, that's my judgment to make.
He yells at me, and you keep turning around, telling him to shut up, trying to reason with me. I'm beyond reason, now, though. I'm not gonna let him get away with calling me a drunk.
I try to sit back down, go back to the drink that you took from my hand, and you again, grab it. Damn you. This time, however, I see you pour it out onto the floor. Now the bartender's pissed too. Great. Let's have a party.
I wish that my coordination was a little better, because I feel myself beginning to fall. You grab for my collar and that sets my body off balance, and I scramble my feet to stay upright. I can't get control of my legs and before I can stop myself, you are pulling me across the room. I try to fight you, but momentum's on your side, and you have me well on the way out the door before I even realize what's happening.
You take me outside, still holding me like I'm a naughty child. And look who it is, it's Trevor again. Like a bad dream, he's part of every moment of this experience.
"Get the hell out of here," you hiss at him. So I'm not the only one who finds him repulsive?
He's whining something about not wanting to walk, and you tell him that you don't care. That he owes you or something.
You still have me firmly by the arm and you push me into the car. You lean over me and buckle my seatbelt and I can smell your hair and it makes me remember kissing you. I lean forward and try to kiss you, but you push me back into the seat. Now I feel the sting of your rejection all over again. You tell me not to do anything I'll regret.
"Who says I'll regret it, baby?" I ask.
You sigh, and tell me that I'm drunk, and that you're going to take care of me.
I have the sense to ask you where we're going, and you tell me your place. I guess we'll have our date after all. So what if it's not exactly what we had in mind.
35. TOUGH LOVE
This has got to be the longest mile of my life. One minute you're acting like a spoiled, whiny two year old, complaining about my driving. Next minute, you're like an unruly horny octopus, trying to get under my sweater. This is not what I had in mind when I decided on calamari salad for dinner.
Shit. Dinner! I glance over at you, snooping into Trevor's glove compartment at the moment, still glassy and uncoordinated. Don't think you'll be wanting dinner anytime soon.
"Look, Alex, look what I found!" You yell. I look over, and almost crash into the car ahead. That would have been really funny. Manhattan ADA and SVU detective involved in auto accident; cop rushed to ER with sexual aide in eye. I can just see the headline.
"Don't you wonder why that asshole has a "
"Put it back, Olivia." I cut you off, but you ignore me. You're too soused. Too amused. Maybe even a little turned on. Oh no.
Luckily, I remember what mom used to do when we took Trevor's cat to the vet. I tune into the classical station. Like Fluffy, you're sound asleep within the minute. Thank god.
Maybe you'll sleep off some of the alcohol.
If I wouldn't feel bad for the person ultimately cleaning the car, I'd drive in circles until you throw up the booze. Just to spite that son of a...
Why does he have a be such a drama queen anyway? It doesn't make him an alcoholic, just because he went out drinking with someone two weeks in a row, got drunk the last time, and did something, or rather someone, he wishes he could forget. He might need therapy like the rest of us, but AA's not it.
You, on the other hand, I'm not so sure
I know you drink. I've seen you put away almost a pitcher of beer when we all go out to drown our guilt. But you've always stopped before you got too wasted to drive. While I've heard about your drunken exploits, I've never actually seen you in action until now. Sure, you had cause for your binge drinking
Extraordinary, mitigating causes, for which I'm the culprit
Well, maybe if I caused it, I can fix it. I certainly hope so.
Before turning onto my street, I stop by the bodega. When I get back into the car, you're still out like a light. Alleluia.
Finally, we're at my place, and I unbuckle your safety belt, somehow managing to dodge every one of your eight arms. "Come on, Olivia, let's go."
You mumble something, but amazingly, you let me help you up the stairs without too much fuss. "You're so nice " You say.
At least I'm convinced that's what I heard. You won't think I'm so nice when you find out what's in stall for you.
Sitting you down on the shower bench, I tell you to wait, and give you a magazine, hoping it'll occupy you.
In the kitchen, I empty the coffee grinds into the blender, pour in the rest of the orange juice I have, and add the container of chewing tobacco I just bought.
Two minutes later, I stare at the brown green sludge and fight back the bile rising up my throat. I can still remember how it felt going down that first time I got drunk. Mom's Tough Love, she called it then. I'm sure you'll have a new name for it soon.
36. deja vu
Why the hell am I in the shower? And what shower? And, oh yeah, Alex. I smile. Alex brought me here.
Alex. Mmm she's yummy.
I think about that and look at the magazine you left in my lap.
Magazines are funny. The pictures are shiny. Oh that girl's cute.
I hear a sound and then I see you turn the corner and look at me.
Oh, you're carrying a glass is that for me? I hope it's that wine you were talking about. I bet you have good taste in wine. I don't really care what it tastes like, I just don't want this feeling to go away.
You push it into my hand. That doesn't smell good. What is this? It doesn't smell like any drink I remember.
You aren't very nice now. "Drink it, Olivia."
I smile at you. "What is it?" I ask, sniffing it again. I try to stand up and walk to you, but before I can get up your arms are on my shoulders pushing me down. You're so close, and I put my hand up and try to cop a feel.
"Stop that." You say, pushing my hands away from you. "Drink it."
"You know," I mumble, "A few hours ago you liked my hands up your shirt."
"Drink it." You say again.
"Drink it, drink it, drink it." I say back, making a face. "What if I don't wanna?"
"You don't have a choice."
"Uh huh. It's my body," I say.
"Drink it." You say again.
Broken record, broken record.
"You drink it," I say, sloshing it towards you.
"Olivia." Your voice is full of warning.
Fine. I stick my tongue into the glass. I'm not chugging something unless I know how it tastes.
When I let it raise to my lips, though, you grab it, tilting it back into my mouth. I can feel black slime flowing down my throat. What the hell?
"It's going to make you sick, Liv." You say. Great.
You must be a prophet, because suddenly, I don't feel so great. Whatever was in that sludge is threatening to come right back out. "What was that?" I mumble, trying to control my stomach.
"Coffee grinds, tobacco, and orange juice."
What the ugh. I feel you pulling me off the chair and onto my knees in front of your toilet as bile raises in my throat. You rub my back gently as my stomach empties, pushing hair out off my forehead.
Yeah, this so wasn't the first date I had in mind
37. COLD SHOWER
It's not a good feeling, I know, and as you retch, I try to sooth your back, brush the hair out of your eyes. I feel so bad for you.
Part of me feels so responsible. Granted, I didn't pour alcohol down your throat, didn't hold a gun to your head and make you drink. But I should have anticipated the worst. Why couldn't I see it coming? Since when has Trevor played nice? I just didn't expect this.
"How are you, Olivia?" I ask, after I flush the toilet for the n-th time, when you finally stop.
You make a face and start to slump over.
I hold you up by your shoulders before you collapse bodily on the floor. Don't think I'll be able to move you then, and that will not be good. I'm not done with you yet, and I'm sure you'll hate me before this is over.
"Here," I grab a towel from the rack, wet it with cold water and wipe your face. Amazingly, you let me. Then I hand you mouthwash in a cup. "Gargle. Don't swallow it, Liv. It's not drinkable. That's it. Spit it out." That too went down the sewer. Finally.
"Can you stand?" I ask you. Don't think you can make it at first. But with this look of dire concentration on your face, you manage. "Good girl."
"Do I get a reward for being good?"
"Yes, Liv, you get a reward."
"Goodie! What do I get?"
"A shower." A really cold shower, I think to myself as I sit you back onto the bench.
"With you?" You look up and ask with glee.
"No." Before you can whine about it, I turn on the faucet, and close the door. Then move quickly to ransack my closet for something that might fit you. Ah, sweats and tees, that should... Before I can finish my thought, I hear you scream for me at the top of your lungs, so I rush back to you.
"Are you okay, Liv?" I poke my head in for a second and hold my breath. Somehow you've managed to take off all your clothes.
"I'm cold. You forgot the hot water." You complain. Then you start to slip, and without thinking, I step in to stop you from falling.
"Caught ya!" You squeal. Suddenly, you're a horny octopus again. This time you're stark naked. How can you think about sex at a time like this?
How can I think about sex at a time like this?
I steel myself, and try to distract you with senseless small talks. Not that I can make anymore sense even if I tried, with you standing so close to me. It's a good thing we're in a cold shower. This has got to be the longest fifteen minutes of my life.
Finally, you look more sober and alert. At least enough to dress yourself. I make sure you do, then chase you out of the bathroom. Then I peel off my own wet clothes and put on my robe.
Then a shiver shoots through my body.
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
38. down for the count
You're right there, and you're cute, and you're watching me as you push me back onto the tiny bench in your shower. You turn on the shower and cold water hits me, and quickly soaks through my clothes. It's cold in here.
Oh, duh, that'd because my clothes are still on. Silly clothes.
Better take them off.
Biting my bottom lip, I concentrate really hard. Sleeve, then sleeve, then the pants. I shimmy out of them and proudly put them on the floor of the shower. I sit back down and realize that I'm still cold.
Where are you?
"Alex," I scream and you come running.
There you are. Hee hee, you're pretty.
You look at me and then you sort of smile, but your eyes are all wide and big. Like I'm clashing.
I look down at me. Oh yeah. I took my clothes off because it was cold.
Wait. I'm still cold.
"Alex, I'm cold." I whine.
"I know, sweetie, it's gonna help wake you up." You say.
"Wanna know what'd wake me up?" I ask, pushing myself to my feet Okay, one foot shit.
I feel myself falling, and before I can actually hit the floor you catch me your hands under my arms and warm against my breasts.
Mmmm .that feels good.
What do yours feel like? I try to reach for them, but you bat my hands away. I try to kiss you but I miss.
You watch as I pull on your clothes. I think they're your clothes. You push me out of the bathroom and walk me to your bed. "Sit here," you tell me, "and stay."
"Like a puppy?" I ask.
"Yeah. Like a puppy."
"Okay," I say, smiling in understanding.
This bed is comfy. I let myself bounce up and down on it once.
I let myself fall backwards and I look at the ceiling. I'm sleepy, I think.
I can hear the shower running, and I think about walking in and finding you there naked. I almost manage to push myself up, but I remember being sleepy, and I let my eyes close. I'll find you naked in the morning.
39. ALSO OUT FOR THE COUNT
Okay, maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just my body trying to shake away the cold from the icy water. Maybe a nice hot shower would help me get warm. Hopefully, it'll also help me relax.
I peek out from the bathroom, and see you laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Soon, you'll be asleep, I'm sure. Maybe when you wake up, you won't have that nasty a hangover. Maybe we'll talk then.
And maybe afterwards, we'll do something besides talk
You know? I've wanted you in my bed for so long. This, however, is not how I've envisioned it. Not even close.
I sigh, force the image of naked you out of my mind, and go back into the bathroom. I stay in the shower, gradually turning down the cold water, before turning it off all together. All the while, I try to focus on emptying out my mind, evening my emotions, calming my stressed out body.
Most of all, I try to forget that you were naked in my line of sight, naked in my arms. Try to ignore the fact that now you're naked in my clothes, lying in the middle of my bed. Half drunk, and very available.
And incapable of consent, I remind myself, and go back to clearing my mind. Concentrate, concentrate, I keep repeating until it becomes a mantra.
Finally, the hot water runs out, and I step out feeling somewhat warmer than before.
So it was just the cold shower earlier after all. That's good.
Before I head into the closet, I check on you. Like I expected, you're sleeping and snoring lightly, with a silly smile on your face. I wonder what you're dreaming about. Oh, your legs are twitching, just like a puppy. How cute! Now I really wonder. Are you chasing something or someone in your dream?
I hope it's me you're dreaming of, and I hope you catch me.
You're so cute when you're asleep.
I smile, and pull a blanket over you. I guess you can have my bed for now.
Quickly, I change into sweats, putting on an extra layer for good measure. Then I check the clock. My, how time flies. We should have already had dinner, had everything gone according to plan. Maybe I should feed myself.
I open the fridge. Suddenly a wave of nausea and dizziness hits me. Suddenly, I'm sweating. Suddenly, I'm cold.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alex Cabot does not get sick, I try to tell myself as I head back to the bedroom to get the spare pillow and blankets.
Arrgh! You're sleeping on the spare blankets! I try to move you, but I have no energy. You're such a hog! But you look warm, and right now I'm so very, very cold.
Maybe you won't mind being blanket for the night
I wake up slowly, my head full with a familiar pounding. Damn it. I'm getting used to waking up this way. I need a drink. To make the throbbing go away. To make whatever I'm about to face seem better and more mangeable.
I stick out my hand and feel for my bedside stand without opening my eyes. I think I left a bottle in the where the hell is the stupid stand?
I let my eyes slit open.
There is no stand. This isn't my room. This isn't my house. Where the hell am I?
Okay, think. It's gotta be, I know I, I remember drinking, yeah, O'Malley's and Trevor. I remember the card in my pocket. The card.
I slip my hand down my body, but the jeans I remember wearing aren't there. There's no pockets. What the?
I look at the ceiling. Shit. This isn't my place. What did I do last night? What did I do? I slide my fingers around, looking for clues. I'm wearing clothes. That's good. They're not my clothes though. That's bad. Next, I let my fingers slither out to the side .and I frown when I hit a body. Fuck.
Well that's probably how I got myself into this mess.
I try to think. O'Malleys. The guy. I went with the guy?
I don't usually go to the guy, the guy comes to me.
And slowly, I realize that whoever this is, their chest isn't flat. No, in fact, I can feel it responding to my hand trying to decide who it is. Too quickly, memories flash into my head.
Trevor. You. And you're, and I'm. And this is a bed?
"Fuck" I say a little too loud as I swing my legs off the bed and up all in one swift movement. Standing, my head spins and I can feel throbbing behind my eyes. I grab my head, and I see you moving.
Shit. That's definitely you. Beautiful blonde hair, long lean body. And God, Cabot, could this room be any more pink? It looks like Barbie threw up in here.
"I'm so sorry." I say. "this isn't, this wasn't, that I've got to go"
You're looking at me half concerned and half amused. This is so not funny.
I fucked up again.
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